


Beast of a Burden

by extradimensional



Series: Beast of a Burden [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair and Cullen are both grouchy for a while, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extradimensional/pseuds/extradimensional
Summary: “How long are we pretending to not know each other?” Alistair asked as the stillness of the forest became staggeringly too quiet.  “How long until you look me in the eye and ask how I am? Because this charade is getting old, Cullen. Maker’s breath, we’re alone and will be for days. Who are we play acting for?”“I wasn’t aware we were acting to begin with,” Cullen graced him as an answer. “Things change, Alistair. It’s been a decade. I am not the same and neither are you. Can we not simply leave it at that?”“What happened to you?” Alistair asked it quietly, low enough that it could easily be given to the trees, covered up by the woodland creatures, gobbled by the birds, and ignored if wished.“War,” he responded with a sigh. “The same as you.”
Relationships: Alistair/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Beast of a Burden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722922
Comments: 13
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I'm not even really sure if this fandom is a living thing at this point. I mostly wrote this for self indulgence purposes and hope that, in the possible empty void this is, someone else will enjoy it as well.

_It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to set. Through the windows of the Chantry library, perched in his little corner, Alistair could tell it was golden hour. His favorite time of day, now that he knew the name of it. Books were helpful for learning things like that._

_He often hid in here just before supper, having figured out that it was the only time no one really cared where he was or what he was doing. The others were either outside playing or in the chapel, neither of which really sounded appealing. No, the only time Alistair ever got alone was in the library where no one was allowed to talk. Books made him feel as though he wasn’t there, like one of his escape plans had worked and taken him to another land. One that was much more fun, one where he was an adventurer and no one could tell him what to do, when to eat, or when to sleep._

_Today though, he found it hard to focus amongst the chatter coming from the main hallway._

_The door was partially closed but the wood was rather thin. Something no one really noticed but Alistair. Normally, it never bothered him as the Chantry was a painfully quiet place, but right now there were obviously visitors, as Mother Loredana and one of the Knight Commanders were talking at normal volumes._

_Alistair sneaked forward and peered through the crack, careful not to be seen._ _He had started stealth training just a few months prior, so if he was caught, perhaps he could say he was just practicing._

_Standing in the hall was a boy around his age, 13, maybe 14. It was hard to say, but he looked very serious as Mother Loredana talked to him. His parents were nowhere to be seen, but that was normal. The rule was to say goodbye to them at the door and come into the building stoic and ready to serve._

_(Unless you were Alistair. Then you had to be carried in by your Guardian while crying and kicking the whole way and threatened with sedation.)_

_The two leather bags that sat at the boy’s sides made Alistair think he was a new kid, but his blond hair and nice clothing made him look as though he came from a rather well off farming family than joining as a new devotee._

_“You’re much older than we usually allow on. I told your Mother and Father the same, but your recommendations are immaculate. I have also been told that you are quite astute. Are you sure you do not wish to be a scholar instead?”_

_She asked out of pure convenience, Alistair knew. The older someone was, the more trouble they were to shape into the perfect Templar and their little faults would spread to the other children._

_“No, Mother. I wish to become a Templar. I have sword training already and I am a very hard worker.”_

_She looked the boy over in silence. Alistair knew that look. It was the one she made when she had already made a decision and was just making you sweat for the answer._

_“Very well, Cullen. You are welcome here as a devotee to the Templar Order. I expect you to work extremely hard to catch up with your peers and make your vows on time. Go with Knight-Commander Moriset, he will explain our ways to you and test where you stand.”_

  
  


_Alistair watched as the boy—Cullen—followed Moriset further into the hall, all while wondering why anyone would choose to come here._


	2. Chapter 2

Alistair had arrived at Skyhold for one thing, figured he'd stay until said objective was finished, and from that point would simply fuck off. He hadn't expected the Inquisitor to instantly take a liking to him and certainly hadn't expected to be asked to extend his stay.  Most people found him annoying, in truth. An outlandish personality, which he understood. The latter stuck to a point no matter how much someone liked him, but it was still a surprise when the Inquisitor and company demanded he join them for drinks as the dining hall cleared out. They laughed at his stories and actually wanted to hear more about them, which was...unique.

Then again, Leliana was there and she was quite the hype man. That particular evening led to the two of them recounting the nightmare that was the Dark roads and a friendly tally of how many times Alistair had almost died. 

He countered, with examples, that Leliana wasn't much better. 

It was odd, in all honesty, how casually Leliana and him spoke about such things when at the time they felt so incredibly dire. Every day seemed a step closer to death and every meeting with an authority figure just another set of impossible tasks. The fact that they had survived— that most of them survived—was a miracle within itself. Still, the banter felt good compared to how lost Alistair had felt as of late. He felt good. 

Of course it all had to come crashing down at some point. That point, it just so happened, ended up being the Commander. 

“How long were you in the Dark Roads for exactly?” Varric asked, looking between Leliana and Alistair as though they had both grown two heads. No one really went into the Dark Roads and lived to laugh about it over beers.

“Eh. Five days, roughly? Time’s sort of hard to count down there. Maker, I hated it so much. Once we got back up to the surface and we could see the sky again, I actually fell onto my hands and knees and had to be threatened into not taking a nap on the doorstep of Orzammar.” 

“More correctly: I had to threaten his backside with a very sharp arrow,” Leliana countered, elbowing Alistair hard enough that his drink sloshed up his nose. 

That was when the Commander began to take interest. He had sat there quite sullen with his cup of what Alistair assumed was ale, quietly inspecting Alistair when he thought the Grey Warden wasn’t looking. He was trying to get a read, that much was clear. “Aren’t the Dark Roads where Grey Wardens go to die?” he asked. 

Everyone suddenly dropped silent. 

Alistair wasn’t sure what they all expected him to do. Be offended? It was a fact, one that wasn’t necessarily a secret at that. If anything, he was more distracted by the tone of the Commander’s voice; that it didn’t match the moody exterior or the vibe of a tortured soul. Alistair was so sure that it would have changed after all this time.

“Yes,” Alistair answered, coming back to himself. “Though I’d rather...not. If I’m being perfectly honest.”

“You don’t want to depart this realm slaying every darkspawn in your wake?” 

Alistair smirked. It was a question that haunted him more than he would like and certainly more than he was willing to admit. 

“I’d rather not depart at all, if given the choice. I’ve seen enough death to know there is little to no glory in it.” 

He watched with the smallest amount of satisfaction as the Commander’s face twisted as though he had eaten a sour lemon. Alistair knew him, of course: Cullen Rutherford, Lion of Ferelden or screwed up victim of various other things, depending on who you asked. He had also managed to avoid Alistair the whole time he had been in Skyhold so far, with painstaking success. Why he chose then to strike was a mystery Alistair considered himself not sober enough to solve.

“I think you may have picked the wrong job if life expectancy is important to you,” Cullen answered after a tense few seconds passed. 

“It was that or become a Templar. Both hardly promise long life and both have predictable ends. At least my mind is my own as a Grey Warden and addictive substances aren’t forced down my throat.” 

Cullen’s chair screeched across the hard stone floor before the last word was completely out of Alistair’s mouth. With not even a bow towards the Inquisitor, he exited the room as if pursued by a bear. 

“I’d apologize for him, but I have a feeling you know more than you have let on,” Lavellan stated. 

“Mm,” Alistair replied. “You know what they say: you can take the boy out of the Chantry...” 

  
  


———————❖———————

Grey Wardens were trusted with a terrible amount of secrets. It wasn’t something that had even occurred to Alistair until after Duncan’s death, when there wasn’t exactly a senior advisor for outsiders to stifle through. He would show up someplace and suddenly the most high-strung people were vomiting their souls out to him. 

Once the Blight was taken care of, he had gone to Orlais for lack of a better thing to do. There were still Grey Wardens there: proper ones, with leaders and recruits and such. They even had a fancy tower. Now, Alistair wasn’t much for Orlais for a variety of reasons: He wasn’t subtle enough for them, nor did he care to lie to impress a bunch of strangers, but the Grey Wardens were decent enough people. He had made the comment at supper during his stay about this issue with secrets and everyone laughed. 

“Simple, Alistair. We’re independent. A 3rd party above the law and subject to our own. If some noble tells you that they are banging a member of the chantry on the side, what are you going to do? You’re not loyal to the Chantry, you’re not going to give a sodding shit. Now if they told a Templar that or even a peer? Well, that would get messy. They have loyalties in their sphere.” 

“Huh,” was the only response that Alistair could really think of. And then he got roaring drunk and woke up in a bush in the back gardens, but that is neither here nor there.

Eventually, he decided to come back home to Ferelden and reset up the order there. Two people joined him from Orlais. Along with that, they decided to keep up contact on a monthly basis instead of simply dividing and conquering like before. You know, in order to avoid another ‘Oh, all the Grey Wardens but two in a whole kingdom are dead’ situation. 

It was...good. 

At one point or another, he had been assigned clean up duty in the Free Marches. Unfortunately, since they were located in Ferelden, the quickest way there was through the  _ lovely _ city of Kirkwall. As such, Alistair and his Wardens (all 5 of them now, Duncan would be proud) made their way across the sea and into what was rumored to be a disaster of a city-state.

Alistair had thought by ‘disaster’ that the buildings would be crumbling, the people rude, and maybe the local Inn was flea infested. He didn’t know they were walking into a literal blood bath. Qunari were in the streets openly fighting, random shite was on fire, and there was copious amounts of blood staining nearly every surface available. 

Quickly enough, they found themselves attacked and fighting back, numbers not in their favor, surprise surprise. That was how Alistair met Hawke and spoke to him for a total of five minutes, the piles of dead Qunari adding to the ambience. Though everything seemed to be going tits up, there was little the Wardens could do without getting reprimanded. Alistair didn’t agree with the ‘stay out politics’ rule, but he knew what issues to press with the First Warden and which ones to leave alone.

And so they left, stopping along the way in the small towns and some bigger cities, praises and fears echoing wherever they went.

Still, life was all a dance and even if Alistair was an unwilling partner, there were many who wished to drag him onto the floor and drop rumor after rumor into his ear. 

———————❖———————

“So, do you like it here?” Leliana asked, her arm linked through Alistair’s as they walked through the various courtyards of Skyhold. It was huge compared to anywhere else Alistair had stayed and he still couldn’t figure out how everyone navigated without maps.

“I’m settling in.”

“That wasn’t my question, Alistair. I asked if you liked it here.” 

“Does it matter? I’ll likely have to be on my way soon enough.” 

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon but the face Leliana pulled made it seem more like it was overcast and everyone was drowning. 

“Where will you go?” 

He sighed before responding. He wasn’t feeling quite so cheery today and couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. Certainly Leliana demanding his plans for the immediate future wasn’t helping.  “Wherever I’m needed. As I’ve been doing for the last decade-ish. Why does this seem to bother you now, all of the sudden?”

She gave pause, as if thinking her answer through but Alistair thought it a ruse. Leliana didn’t start a conversation and come up with an opinion midway through. She had whatever she was going to say planned out to a perfect point, with backup routes if things did not go the way she hoped. Still, Alistair appeased her by letting the silence settle. 

“You could be needed here,” she proclaimed. 

“Could I now? Hm. Let’s see, by who exactly? Your Commander, who absolutely despises me and would not listen to a lick of advice I had even if it was given by Andraste herself? Or your seeker who seems to think I spit right in Mother Loredana’s face when I was conscripted instead of becoming a Templar?”

“Cassandra doesn’t hate you, her face just always looks like that. And Cullen is...Cullen. He has his reasons.”

“Yes, his secret reasons that you cannot share because you’ve found them out through illegal, bad girl means. Even though I know them anyway. Or I’m pretty sure I do.”

That, for whatever reason, made Leliana’s face light up. No doubt she knew everything possible about anyone vaguely important who lived within those walls. It was her job, no one could fault her. But no one could also fault him for finding it creepy. 

“How do you know? More importantly how? Are you cheating on me with another spy?” 

“More like I have ears and a face that apparently says ‘tell me all your damning secrets.’ I know he was in Kirkwall, I know that a lot of people within the Chantry thought he was too unstable to serve. Maybe they should have tried removing the stick from his arse. Might have made a massive improvement.”

Leliana elbowed him in the chest, hard. Enough that he had to stop walking and rub where there would no doubt be a bruise forming. Enough that he didn’t look up until he almost reamed right into said Commander. 

_ Oh, please Maker. Don’t let him have heard any of that. He’s scary now and I don’t want to deal with the repercussions.  _

Cullen looked them both over with a nod but made no obvious remarks or tells that he had heard any of their conversations. Maybe the Lyrium had messed with his hearing. It did do some rather funky things to the people taking it. Maybe it had messed with his memory too, stole them away…

Maybe he genuinely didn’t remember who Alistair was. 

“Leliana. Warden-Commander. How are you this afternoon?” 

Oh, and now they were conversing. Then again, Alistair assumed that since he and Leliana worked together daily, they had to actually talk sometimes. This proved true as Leliana continued the conversation without a hitch or touch of delay. “Very well, Cullen. I was just telling Alistair how helpful he could be to our cause. Causes, actually. His senses for darkspawn are second to none, quite obviously and he’s quite the fighter. Actually, I think you both have very similar fighting methods. Sword and shield still, Alistair?”

What was Leliana doing? Trying to set them up? Guilt him into staying? 

“Uh. Right. Yes. Sword and shield. I attempt two hand every once in a blue moon, but the Chantry got to me with the one hand, I guess. Shield blasts and so forth.” 

The Commander raised a brow at this, as if it was some interesting hidden fact. As if he hadn’t learned besides each other. As if Alistair hadn’t stayed up late for weeks trying to teach Cullen had to hold a sword correctly. “Perhaps we should spar someday. It would be refreshing to fight someone on an even footing.”

Now, that confused Alistair. Hadn’t he seen at least 10 Templars roaming around since he got here, uniform and all? But to question it would make him look stupid, like he didn’t know all that he was supposed to. So instead, Alistair just nodded. “Yes. That would be...fun.” He managed to keep his voice from raising too high at the end of that sentence, keeping it from sounding too much like a question. Not that it mattered, as Leliana jumped on it anyway. 

“How wonderful! Sometime this week perhaps? Alistair usually practices around 5 pm and he is staying for at least a week more. At the Inquisitor's request, of course.” 

“At the Inquisitor's req—Ow! Stop hitting me!” Alistair bit the inside of his cheek, trying to not focus on the sharp pain coming from his now stepped on foot. If any of this was meant to be smooth, Leliana was failing at her goal. 

Still, the Commander ignored it for the most part. Other than the slightest turn of his lip, which pulled at the scar tissue there. Alistair wondered what had happened to cause it. Where Cullen was when it happened and who had stitched it up with so little care.

“Very well then. Have a nice walk.” And then he was on his way. 

“What, in the Maker’s name, was that?” 

“That is what one can call ‘making connections’. Something you need to get better at. Cullen is important and you should get along with him if you’re staying. Pull him out of his shell a little.”

“Wait, wait.  _ If I am staying? _ Leliana, I can’t stay. You know this.” 

“No,” she argued. “I don’t. Neither do you. The Inquisitor wants you to stay for another week and you will do so because I see no reason otherwise. I also see no reason for you not to get to know Cullen.” 

“Would you at least stop calling him ‘Cullen’ out loud? It makes him sound almost human and I’m not a fan. Ugh, and he used my actual title. Warden-Commander, who would actually call me that?”  That gave cause to another, albeit much lighter, elbow to the ribs. Mostly because Leliana knew she got her way.  Maker’s breath, she always did. And in that same vein, it meant that there really was no way out of fighting the Commander. 

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The last thing Alistair wanted was for this to turn into just that: _a thing._ But of course, as did everything he touched, it did. 

Alistair normally did train at 5 pm. He wasn’t one for waking up early and certainly not one for attention. It tended to be a good time of day as everyone was eating, meaning the battlements were decently empty and no one was staring at him as if fire was going to shoot out of his eyes.

Unlike what most people assumed, his fighting style hadn’t really changed much since becoming a Grey Warden. Yes, he had gotten better, but that more had to do with time than anything else. And yes, perhaps he did aim for killing blows more than he used to, but considering his job, he thought that to be quite a positive.

Even though he desperately wanted to skip, Leliana had practically forced him to go practice that day. And when the Commander didn’t show up, she forced him again the second. 

It wasn’t until the 3rd, right before Alistair was finishing up nearly beheaded a dummy, that the Commander came over almost silently. Alistair might have stabbed him had he not had years to memorize the sound of Cullen's steps, now amplified even on grass due to Alistair's oddly dog like Warden abilities. 

Which...wouldn't have been all too terrible of an outcome. 

  
  


Maybe he should have. You know, just to see if he still had any blood running through those veins. 

“Warden-Commander,” Cullen said in greeting, looking over at a sweaty Alistair as though he was appraising a horse. Until he got to Alistair’s bare chest and realized that he was shirtless. Then his eyes flicked upwards and refused to look anywhere below the other’s neck. 

“You really don’t need to call me that. Not even actual Grey Wardens call me that. _I_ didn’t even call my leader that. To be honest, I’m not even sure that’s the real title.” 

“It is,” Cullen responded. “I looked it up when you first came as I wasn’t sure of the correct...term to use. Some other kingdoms get very hung up and even offended if they’re not greeted properly.”

“Ah. Yeah, well...we both know where I’m from,” Alistair ran a hand through his hair with an awkward laugh. “Even if you forgot, there are at least three books with me mentioned in them. Maybe, four by now. I don’t have access to many libraries and when I do, I’m not usually looking up myself.”

Unless someone was reading a book about the Grey Wardens from a century ago, Alistair was pretty sure he’d be mentioned. Did he like that fact? Not particularly, but he forcefully owned at least one or two copies of said volumes. They worked nicely as fire kindling. 

“So, what should I call you then?” Cullen asked.

“My name will do, Commander. Just Alistair.”

With that, Alistair grabbed one of the extra swords that littered the ground around them. He threw it at the Commander who caught it with one hand seamlessly.

“In that case, you can call me Cullen.” 

“Wow, how considerate,” Alistair said, turning his blade over his hand. “Getting to call you by your posh name again.” 

“And Alistair isn’t posh?” 

_Yes, well I’m a royal bastard. I get to be,_ Alistair thought. But he wasn’t going to announce that outloud, lest he give some sort of leverage. 

“Are we going to spar or would you rather debate Etymology?” 

The Commander— _Cullen—_ responded by only making his way into the sparring ring and removing his own gear, leaving on a tunic and trousers. 

“Templar rules?” Alistair asked, moving his sword in a practice swing.

“Do you still know them?” 

“For bloody Andraste’s sake, _yes_ I know them. How old are you now? 30? Last time I checked, they haven’t changed in 200 years, so I think we’re safe,” He buggered off to his side of the ring and planted his feet. “No groin, no head, no magic, no blood. First person to ‘land’ what would be a killing blow wins.”

Alistair tried his best not to over analyze how Cullen looked at him like a mystery he couldn’t wait to solve. Instead he got into position and counted off, wanting to get this over with. Then he could spend the rest of the night making Leliana feel guilty and maybe hide up in the library to plan his next steps. 

He wanted to stay near home just in case anything blew up. Maybe he’d take a few of his men to the Dalish Elves, they usually needed help this time of year with the forest and they generally liked him. 

His thoughts distracted him from the first blow, taking him an extra five seconds to block and slip out of the way of Cullen’s sword. Those five seconds in real battle would have cost him his life, but he tried not to dwell on that right then. Instead he tried to focus on the crunch of Cullen’s boots, noticing that he puts his weight on his left foot even though he’s right dominate. Meaning he’s magically become ambidextrous or he favored that leg for a reason. 

So Alistair took the chance and goes high as if attacking Cullen’s right side before swinging with his own leg and hitting right below the knee on the left. The move was just enough to trip Cullen up for Alistair to get more off the defense. 

“That was dirty.” 

“All is fair in love and war,” Alistair smiled, enjoying the burning of cooling air in his lungs. 

Both of them become too distracted in their fight to notice an audience building up around them, constantly neck and neck and hardly giving any edge to the other. Alistair wasn’t sure how long this would go on for, though it was the most fun he has had since arriving here. They’re equals, that’s for sure. And it was indeed as Cullen put it earlier: refreshing. 

It ended with them dead locked, swords making a cross between their bodies as each pushed for that little bit of give to get to the neck or stomach. There’s cheering around them, but Alistair didn't hear it, the blood in his ears pumping way too loud and echoing the thud of his heart. He wondered if their hearts beat as one right then, if their blood flowed like a song.

There was no way of finding out as their fight ended with a sharp: “Boys!” 

Neither of them budged for a long moment, eyes glued together, lungs heaving. Cullen was the first to pull back once he recognized the outsider’s voice for who it was, leaving Alistair to follow suit.

The Inquisitor stood just outside the ring and Alistair could tell from the smirk on her lips that she had indeed enjoyed the show. How long she had been there for, he wasn’t sure, but she seemed to have some business as she pulled Cullen’s sword from his hands and then did the same to Alistair. 

“I’m sorry for breaking up the fun but I need my Commander. Let’s call it a tie, shall we?” 

Alistair watched on as Cullen was indeed dragged away, picking up his armor as he went. It was clear the Inquisitor was purposely giving him no time to put it on, partly out of enjoyment, partly because they had no time. 

Alistair was happy enough that no one really bothered him as he chugged all of his water skin down in one go, wiping the sweat from his brow as he gathered his things and made to go back inside. 

“That was rather entertaining,” a sing song voice blocked his path, dragging his attention back to the present. 

“Shouldn’t you be in a very important meeting with your boss?”

Leliana shook her head, falling into step beside him. 

“She is having said meeting because of me to begin with. I told her all I could. I wouldn’t be surprised if she calls for you next, depending on what Cullen tells her.” 

He could probe more, but knew better. He’d find out what he needed to when he needed to. If it was life threatening, Leliana wouldn’t be wasting time. 

  
  


“Well then, if and when I’m needed, I’ll be in my room getting the sweat off me. Enjoy your drama.”

With the little wave Leliana gave him as he walked away, he was sure she would. 


	4. Chapter 4

Alistair had never had much time for romance. Or, if he were being honest, even any romps. Things being such as they were, relationships were sparse, he never stayed in one spot for very long, and the lifespan of a Grey Warden wasn’t exactly a long one. 

All valid reasons for no one to pay him any mind. 

That being said, he did in fact have eyes and the way The Commander had momentarily frozen up was...unique. 

Alistair looked over his torso as he dried himself off with a towel. There were a few scars lingering here and there, but no more than the average soldier. He had managed to develop what some may call a six pack, but that was on accident. It just so happened that his metabolism would be at the speed of light for the rest of his life. 

Still, there was nothing he could pinpoint that would garter attention from someone who had dealt with war before. He knew for a fact that Templars tended to barely have modesty when around each other. 

Drying his hair off, he decided to let it go. Cullen, it seemed, had turned from a strange child to an even stranger man. 

The knock on his door came just as he had thrown on his surcoat (The clean one. He had two these days, what a spoiled little brat he was) and he tried his best to bite back any sort of groan at people still wanting his attention. 

But he couldn’t exactly be angry at the girl who stood in the threshold, her salute making her helmet fall over her eyes. 

“Warden-Commander, ser!”

_Oh, good grief._

“The Inquisitor asks for your presence in the war room as soon as possible.”

He was going to kill Leliana. That was obviously the only solution to this. 

“Very well. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of where that might be?” 

Alistair would show up an hour late if he lied and said he could locate it himself. And if time was of the essence, that probably wouldn’t make a very good impression. 

The page’s face lit up. 

“Oh, yes ser! I know this castle like the back of my hand, I do. Then again, all I do is run around it all day. I’d be in trouble if I didn’t.”

She tipped her helmet back up. Alistair was confused on why that was even part of the uniform. 

The walk across the main hall was rather a pleasant one. The page, whose name was Iseldis, was happy to chat about the methods she used to find her way around Skyhold. It was actually very helpful and when he knocked on the door to enter, he was rather sad to depart from the easy conversation. 

As soon as he walked up the stairs and saw the gathered faces, he knew any lightness he had gathered in the last 10 minutes was mute. 

“Alistair,” the Inquisitor nodded in greeting from the head of the table, her hands laid across a map of Thedas that was intricately marked. He looked up from his own attempt to gather anything from it only when he felt eyes trying to see through his skull. 

Cullen’s. Where they were softened just an hour ago, were now replaced with that unreadable edge again. Alistair didn’t exactly enjoy being the target of them. 

“How can I help you, Inquisitor?” 

She pointed to a place on the map, pressing her finger hard against it. 

He swallowed thickly as he read the name of the location. Ostagar. 

“You fought here with Warden-Commander Duncan and the Hero of Ferelden, correct?” 

  
  


_Darkspawn, Darkspawn, having to light the beacon, climbing the floors to the top but it’s too late. It’s always too late isn’t it. Then she gets shot and he’s so sure they’re both going to die there and..._

“You mean Kallian?”

“Not all of us have been on a first name basis with her, but yes. Kallian.

He can’t bite back the smile at hearing the little twill the Inquisitor put on her name, pronouncing it the correct way that Alistair never really was able to manage. 

“Yes, we were there. If there was any fight bad enough to to give me battle sickness, it was that one.”

He could still feel Cullen’s eyes on him, even as the Commander paced his side of the table.

“That’s also where Duncan died,” Alistair stated.

“And your half brother. The King.” 

Alistair dragged his gaze up to Cullen, whose tone had soured considerably. “If we’re throwing out all the sordid details of my life, then yes. He died as well. May I ask what this has to do with anything? Last time I checked, Ostagar was abandoned.” 

“It is. Or was. There’s been a breakout of darkspawn into South-Eastern Ferelden and the only place anyone can pin the source to is there.” The Inquisitor dragged her finger roughly around the area of the Wilds and Alistair felt his heart lurch. 

He wanted to proclaim ‘ _Well, what exactly do you wish for me to do about it?_ ’ and exit the room the way he came, pack his bag, and leave. If all this was just going to equate to dragging him back to all the places he’d rather not go, it was better to depart now.

But he couldn’t. 

If it was about anything else, he could walk away without guilt, but not this. “And how may I be of assistance?” 

“I’d like to send you and Commander Rutherford there to scope out if Ostagar really is the source and if so. I figure a Grey Warden and an ex-templar would be quite the striking combo to end this before it starts.”

Alistair and Cullen. Together. With sharp objects. A fantastic idea if one wished for a fresh corpse. 

“And what say you about this arrangement, Cullen?” he asked.

“If the Inquisitor wishes it. It would be an honor to fight besides such a renowned hero.” 

The worst part of this was that Alistair couldn’t tell if Cullen's words were dripping with sarcasm or filled with newly found sincerity. Gazing at the Inquisitor, he gauged she couldn’t figure it out either.  
  


———————❖———————

Alistair couldn’t find rest the whole night. At first, his mind was just restless. It wasn’t uncommon for him. But then when he did manage to fall asleep, nightmares of a different caliber struck him. They weren’t just about archdemons and nearby darkspawn as they usually were. Of course not. No, they were of things he couldn’t change. Of deaths he regretted that should have been his instead. 

When he finally managed to pull himself back into wakefulness, it was with the decision that he wasn’t closing his eyes again for the rest of the night. 

Looking at the sky, it was about midnight or so and he was rather hungry, having skipped supper earlier. Tossing his jacket on, Alistair decided to sneak into the kitchens and find something to eat instead. Eating was a nice distraction usually and he surprisingly knew where the kitchens actually were.

The halls were mostly empty other than few quiet travelers and some not so quiet drunk ones. No one paid him any mind though, which he was grateful for.

The kitchens looked void of any living souls, so Alistair raided the counters as politely as he could. He had already gotten on good terms with the cook and a few of her helpers, so he didn’t think they’d mind very much. 

He grabbed a bowl of oatmeal, drizzling honey on top, took a few rolls of hard bread and sat himself down in the corner. 

He really did miss having an actual kitchen with actual people who knew how to cook. 

Apparently the sentiment was felt as the Commander walked in dragging his feet and bleary eyed a few minutes later.

Hidden out of eye sight, Alistair watched as the other slowly moved around, humming under his breath. He seemed stressed by his gait, but Alistair was beginning to think that was Cullen’s default state. He knew the feeling. 

Making a neat pile for himself, he left quietly after, leaving Alistair once again all alone. 

That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? Then why did Alistair suddenly miss the humming?

———————❖———————

“How long are we pretending to not know each other?” Alistair asked as the stillness of the forest became staggeringly too quiet. 

They had been riding half a day in complete silence, because when the Inquisitor has suggested they go alone, she had meant it quite literally. None of the Inquisition's forces had joined them, meaning Alistair could scream as long as he wished to the whole bloody forest. 

“How long until you look me in the eye and ask how I am? Because this charade is getting old, Cullen. Maker’s breath, we’re alone and will be for days. Who are we play acting for?” 

“I wasn’t aware we were acting to begin with,” Cullen graced him as an answer. His back was pin straight, armor perfectly pristine, and Alistair wanted to deck him in the bollocks for it. The aloofness the Commander gave off could easily be seen as pretentious and Alistair began to understand why there were some around Skyhold who found the great Commander of the Inquisition posh and stifling. 

Both things Alistair had once known were not true. But now it was anyone’s bet.

“Things change, Alistair. It’s been a decade. I am not the same and neither are you. Can we not simply leave it at that?” 

Alistair would have bought such a dismissal if it weren’t for Cullen pinching the bridge of his nose as if this conversation was causing him a migraine. Alistair had that effect on people, true. But that awkward movement on Cullen was a tell. Stress. He was holding something back. And may nugs be damned if Alistair wasn’t going to hold onto like the smallest shred of hope a man could have.

“What happened to you?” 

Alistair asked it quietly, low enough that it could easily be given to the trees, covered up by the woodland creatures, gobbled by the birds, and ignored if wished. He thought Cullen had chosen that route until the spell of emptiness was broken again.

“War,” he responded with a sigh. “The same as you.”

Alistair had no answer to that. War had been his constant companion but he liked to think that it hadn’t _completely_ changed him. He still felt joy, he still went to the pubs and spoke to new people and tried to live. He had to; it was almost over compensating in honor of all those who couldn’t. 

Not to mention that there was an hourglass trickling down his time left, always looming. Maker willing, there were still 20 years before the Calling and Alistair saw no point in making them miserable. Even if it would make leaving easier in the end.

  
  


Where Cullen saw bodies, Alistair saw flowered fields. He knew war wasn’t the only culprit of that. 

“I went back to Redcliff, you know. Many times, actually.”

“Oh?” 

It was a hollow utterance as Cullen was too cordial to tell Alistair to be quiet. Alistair knew from experience. There was a part in Cullen that Alistair could see so easily; a part that wanted to keep Alistair far away and treat him as an acquaintance. But an acquaintance didn’t know of these things—the things that made up home. 

“That land that you always said you wanted to build a house on is still there. It's still untouched other than some creepy looking scare crows. Oh, and I saw your siblings too. That is, before they left. They're in Southreach now, right?”

The grip on the horse tightened and the leather of Cullen’s glove crunched against the reins. 

“I couldn’t talk for long as I was going to see the Arl, but you’ll be happy to hear that Mia is well. What a lady she cleaned up to be, Cullen. Her husband, a merchant I believe, does well for himself. ”

He wondered if Cullen had ever even been back home. 

When Alistair had heard of the danger at the Redcliffe castle he ran to help, but Cullen didn’t have the luxury, did he? How long did it take for news to spread on what had occurred? How long did it take for him to find who had survived the night and who had succumbed to the monsters?

“She gave me a letter for you. One from Rosalie too. I told her at the time that I’d likely never run into you, but she made me keep it anyway. That sister of yours is painfully intuitive.” 

Sensing that he had not only crossed a line but pissed on it as well, Alistair closed his mouth. They would be stuck together for days and having Cullen refusing to even make conversation would be aggravating to know end. Alistair would end up rambling to himself. Again.

The only sound that could be heard over the tension was that of Cullen's horse stepping roughly on the road as its rider pushed the pace. Yet, he wasn't running completely away. No, Alistair knew that Cullen ran from nothing. It was a blessing and an utter fault. 

But Alistair wasn't going to be the one to speak first. If Cullen wanted his hissy fit, so be it. The only time he even acknowledge that he wasn't alone was to ask if they should make camp or push on. Push on, Alistair had said. The quicker this trip was over, the better.


	5. Chapter 5

_Bedtime was strictly 8 pm, but Alistair had convinced Cook to let him help peel potatoes instead of attend nightly prayers. Something he only got away with because Cook liked him and the younger sisters were running prayer that night. They never ever took headcount._

_Alistair walked back to his room, chewing on a boiled sweet, and was surprised to find that the door was open and the candles were already lit. He was even more surprised to see the blond kid from earlier sitting on what was, just this morning, a perfectly empty bed._

_“Um. Hi?” Alistair starred, his words shaped oddly from the candy in his mouth. He wanted to spit it out, unsure of how much of a goody-two shoes this new boy was. He’d get the belt if someone caught him eating after supper._

_“Hi. I’m Cullen Rutherford. You must be Alistair. They...didn’t tell me your surname,” the boy sat up from the bed, his feet hitting the stone ground with a thud and stuck his hand out._

_“I don’t have one,” Alistair answered, taking the offered limb and shaking it, albeit a bit awkwardly._

_Bastards didn’t get nice surnames._

_“Oh. I’m—sorry?” He looked genuinely confused and apologetic, almost like a puppy that had piddled on the green rug, thinking it was grass. For some reason, it left Alistair feeling bad._

_“It’s not your fault. I didn’t actually know you were coming, so I’m sorry if it’s a little messy.” It was, by Templar standards, if ‘messy’ meant that Alistair’s boots, the only personal item one could see, were not in a perfect line under his bed._

_“What happened to your old roommate? I mean, you had to have one, right?”_

_He had about a year ago. Only for a few weeks. He was 16, so older than Alistair, and fairly new as well. It...hadn’t ended very well, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase that without scaring Cullen off._

_“He, um...well, he sort of died. One of the Knight-Commanders took him to visit a Circle when there was a Harrowing. They do that once you turn around that age, to get you used to the mages I guess. And he—I’m not sure exactly what happened, but the Mage didn’t pass and he never came back.”_

_“Wow. Did a demon get him?” He looked more amazed than afraid. Alistair guessed he had only heard of darkspawn and probably never seen them before._

_“I guess so. To be honest, I didn’t really like him all that much. Not that I think he should have died or anything but...I wasn’t really surprised. They mentioned it at morning assembly and then after training, I came back here and all his stuff was gone.”_

_Cullen nodded, looking at his bed with a certain twinkle in his eyes. It was a good sign if he got excited instead of peeing his pants. Alistair could live with that._

_“Back in Redcliff, we never had any real darkspawn attacks. Or not since I’ve been born. Papa said they don’t come that way because they’re afraid of the Arl and his knights.”_

_“Wait, you’re from Redcliff? Me too!” Alistair’s reaction was instant, even though as an adult he learned to bite back telling that little fact. It opened up too many questions. But by 14, he had learned how to scoot around the most awkward ones. But it was so rare to see anyone from home._

_“Really? The village?”_

_“No, the castle. My Mum was a maid there for the Arl.” Alistair went and sat on his own bed, pulling off his muddied work boots and placing them (properly this time) alongside his nice one, tucking both pairs out of sight._

_“Did you—have you met him? The Arl, I mean?”_

_“Yep. I wish I could be one of his knights someday instead of….this,” he waved his hands around the cold stone room, grey and void of any color or luxury. Templars didn’t have wants, they only had needs. And the only things they needed were prayer, food, water, and lyrium._

_Though they were too young for the last one. They only gave you lyrium once you took your vows, but Alistair had seen it before. Had seen the Templars who came and went pull out their kits and drink from the blue vials._

_He dreaded the day that he would be forced to take it._

_Eventually, he would tell Cullen the truth. It would take almost a year and Cullen would be the only soul in the Chantry that he willingly told it to. He had to make sure that he wouldn’t be treated differently, that Cullen wouldn’t suddenly stop hiding all of Alistair’s socks so he’d have to do drills with freezing feet or hitting him when he snored._

_He didn’t want to lose one of his only friends._

_But Cullen didn’t care that Alistair was a bastard of a King and if anything, Cullen acted as though he had forgotten about it completely._

_Alistair could never put into words how much he had appreciated that._


	6. Chapter 6

They arrived at the barren outline of what was once Ostagar two days later. Both miserable.

Alistair found himself unable to move as he took in what was left. Stone had crumbled, ash stained the ground, but the signs of where life once stood were obvious even now. Even after so much time. The words slipped out before he even thought about them: “I should warn you, Cullen. I don’t exactly know how I will respond to being here.”

His eyes shot up to the tower, where the beacon was supposed to be lit, burning for all to see, ready to turn the tide of battle. They had been late but in the end they had made it. It _had_ burned. Not that it mattered anyway. 

Not that it did any good.

He waited for Cullen to scream at him that he was useless. That there was no point in dragging themselves all the way here if Alistair was going to lose his mind, but it didn’t come. “There are plenty of places I could never return to. The fact that you managed to come this far at all says something.”

Alistair would almost call that a compliment if he wasn’t trying to pull himself together enough to get this over with. Go inside. Be able to breathe while doing so. 

Cullen jumped off his mount first, pulling his cloak tighter to his body. It had rained nearly all night and the air was brisk and damp. Alistair couldn’t feel anything as he followed suit. They got as far as the stairs before Alistair had to stop, opening and closing his mouth like a gasping fish. He wanted to say something, explain the story, let someone else hold the burden for a little while.

“It happened right there, you know. Where Duncan died. Where I should have too. I only know because Kallian—after all was said and done, she came back here with a small group. She refused to let me come, left me at camp with the dog and Morrigan instead. When they finally returned, she told me that his corp _— he_ was still there. Along with the King. She couldn’t tell by the faces of course, only the scraps of clothing left. Darkspawn don’t care about valuable metals or baubles. She found his shield somewhere in the center, where we had made camp for a few weeks before everything went to shit. I have it still. It’s one of two personal things I actually care about,” Alistair’s fingered the chain that dangled under his armor, the pendant safe and snug. 

“Kallian burned his body while she was here. That’s one of the only things I can’t forgive her for, one of the only things she never managed to sweet talk me on. I don’t know how she could have done that without me. I know Grey Wardens usually don’t have funerals or memorials but I always wanted closure of some sort and I never got it. I try to honor Duncan the best I can every day but I doubt I live up to his expectations.” 

“Maybe she was trying to protect you,” Cullen suggested as his eyes looked across the span of horizon.

“ _Protect me?_ No. I’d believe that from someone like you. But you would have let me go, wouldn’t you?” 

Cullen hesitated. Alistair could see his jaw working against his teeth, as if chewing on the words. 

“I wasn’t there. Hypothetically, if you were one of my men, I’d weigh the benefits against the risks. I know what battle sickness looks like. I know it has triggers. I’d hope by that point, I’d be able to tell what would truly bother you but knowing—” Cullen stopped again, eyes slipping to Alistair’s instead of away like he had been. 

“—knowing you in the _past_ , I would have said yes. And as we are conversing now and you are sound of mind, I’d consider that a good decision.”

“Thank you,” Alistair bowed his head, a feeling of worry that he hadn’t even known existed faded just a little. It became that tiny centimeter easier to bite back tears, to kill the burning that threatened to leak. 

“Alistair, I know it’s not the same as a funeral pyre but would you like to pray? If that’s a thing you still find comfort in."

Praying. Does it do anything anymore? He isn’t sure, but at the very least he will center his mind. And if there is an off chance that Duncan would hear, if he could know how sorry he was…

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Alistair had tried, but maybe two people’s prayers were stronger than one. 

“Please.” 

They both knelt in the wet earth, next to where the killing blow likely took place. Next to each other, their words mixing into one voice. Words that Alistair hadn’t realize he still knew. Words that tasted bitter as dirt but went down Alistair’s cheeks as soft as water.

  
  
  
  


“ _Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls._

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._

_In my arms lies Eternity_.”


	7. Chapter 7

They found nothing. 

There were signs of darkspawn, decently new, perhaps a few days old, but Alistair didn’t feel that they were near. 

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Cullen asked, watching sharply as Alistair felt a charred mark on the ground. 

“If what you’re really asking is ‘do you think there is or was a rift here at some point’, my answer is going to be ‘no’. Do I think that people are now becoming curious about this place and it’s now passed into local folktales and ghost stories? Yes. Do I think that maybe some blood mages had the brilliant idea of coming here to cause a ruckus? Absolutely.” 

“Blood mages?” Cullen pushed himself from the wall he was perched on. He looked suddenly ashen. “What makes you say so?” 

Alistair held up his gloved hand where an ashy residue stuck to his pointer finger and thumb. “This is man made. And I don’t just mean it was put together by a person. It’s still tacky.” 

“Do you think—Are they still here?”

“No,” asked Alistair, surprised at Cullen’s abrupt change. “This particular mixture keeps blood from drying out. They’re long gone. Either from the rain storm or word got around that we were coming. Two sort-of Templars? They’d be okay to deal with that. But the Inquisition? Flee for the hills.” 

“The public is really that afraid of the Inquisition?” 

Alistair shook his head. “Not afraid unless they’re doing something wrong. But you’re seen as a pretty big force. For the Maker’s sake, you saved the world and your leader is literally called ‘The Herald of Andraste’.”

“Ah, well yes, I suppose I could see where that is a tad overwhelming. What of you? You’re a hero in your own right.” 

Alistair shrugged, standing with a groan and contorting his back until it made an audible _crack_. “Yes, they’re in awe until I open my mouth and speak. Then suddenly, they’re unimpressed.” 

Just like that, Cullen actually laughed.

He _laughed_.

At _Alistair_.

At a _joke_ Alistair _made_. 

Even though they were in the place of his nightmares and even though Cullen didn’t seem to be faring much better, Alistair grinned. Even if the laugh lasted a little too long to not be hiding something, it was better than the alternatives. As Mother Loredana had once lectured Alistair, you can’t fix a broken bridge by merely throwing wood at it. 

———————❖———————

“Blood mages,” the Inquisitor looked unsure about their response, clearly chewing on the logistics of it as she did so. 

Both Alistair and Cullen had been called to the war room almost immediately at their arrival back at Skyhold and both hadn’t even stopped in their respective chambers to change out of their road stained clothes. The Inquisitor, Alistair could see now, had not won wars by merely a sense of humor and a good ability to hold her liquor. 

“Yes, once Alistair pointed out the possibility, the signs were easily seen all of the area.” 

Cullen leaned over the table, rubbing at his eyes haphazardly. Alistair wondered if he was used to this sort of odd debriefing where he had to argue over what he had seen with his own eyes.

“And may I ask how our Grey Warden knows so much about blood mages?” Her rather harsh gazed turned on Alistair. He didn’t enjoy it away and wished she’d go back to staring at Cullen.

“I feel as though everyone forgets that I was about a week away from being a full fledged Templar. That, and the Grey Wardens are hired help, for the most part. Darkspawn, in a blight free world, plus random appearances tend to equal blood magic.”

He wasn’t sure what he was being accused of exactly. Being a secret blood mage? Reading too many books? Lying so his job would be harder later on? 

“I see.” 

“Do you?” Alistair asked, unable to hold his tongue. Blame it on tiredness or having no one to answer to on his every day business, but he had no patience on being second guessed for apparent reason. 

The Inquisitor's face hardened at his outburst, but it looked just as menacing as before he snapped. Not that he really cared. _He_ didn’t have to be here. In fact, in the grande scheme of things, Alistair could actually be seen as out ranking her. A terrifying thought, but one that fulled him at the given moment. 

“I mean no disrespect, but we have been on the road for 4 days straight. We are weary and wet, yet we come to you in good faith to be interrogated on a very black and white scenario. Ma’am, chasing down darkspawn is my whole being. I’ve given up my life for it. My blood has been rewritten just to be able to feel their presence. If you aren’t going to trust me, a Commander of the Grey, to tell you if a few low grade minions have been lurking around, I believe you better rethink that principle.”

“Did he just call me _Ma'am_?” she asked, turning to Cullen.

Alistair had kept away from looking in that direction, expecting to find Cullen fuming, but he was anything but. His face was blank, but not showing anything disapproving, his arms were crossed, but not as though he was separating himself from the situation. 

“Yes, I believe he did.” 

She made a face of disgust, wrinkling her nose, before dismissing it. Possibly. Alistair thought she may circle back to it eventually, Maker help them.

“Nevermind that insult, _Warden-Commander_ , what do you think we should do about this little outbreak? Contact the Circle?” 

“I would leave that decision to you and Commander Rutherford. This is my first stay in this area of Ferelden in quite a while. I’m not sure what Circles are still functioning.”

The Inquisitor waved them off as a dismissal, one that both men took abruptly and didn’t question. “I’ll contact our spymaster. Possibly you later, Cullen, if Leliana has questions. You boys go and deal with yourselves.” 

Alistair shut the door behind them with an unnecessary bang, putting his weight against it in fear of someone ripping it open and demanding he come back inside. He had been planning on walking in the opposite direction as Cullen in theory, but in execution Alistair realized he only knew one way from the war room to his own chamber, the way the page had shown him days earlier. Also known as the way Cullen was currently going. So he followed, walking shoulder to shoulder. 

“So,” Cullen began. “You _do_ know your own title.”

“Out of that whole conversation, that is what you get out of it? You always did have selective hearing.” 

“I guess some things never change,” Cullen stated, nodding before going off in the direction to his tower. 

“No,” Alistair replied. “I suppose they don’t.” 

———————❖———————

Alistair collapses on his bed with a sigh. It was always glorious, the first time you slept on a bed after a mission and if you were lucky, the sleep that followed was quite beautiful as well. That is, if whatever took you away in the first place didn’t haunt your mind, or the death toll hadn’t risen too much. He didn’t feel as though that would happen tonight. In fact, he felt like he could fall asleep right then and there, ignore the hunger pangs until morning, ignore the banging on his door. But it got louder and more insistent the more Alistair ignored it. With a groan, he pulled himself up and shuffled to the door, rubbing his eyes. 

“Warden-Commander. A note from the Inquisitor. She also requested that you be brought supper.”

The messenger handed him a silver tray, which Alistair skillfully did not drop even in his state of exhaustion, and was on their merry way. 

_Well_ , Alistair thought as he closed the door behind him. _At least I don’t have to hunt down food anymore._

He ripped open the seal from the Inquisitor's letter with one hand, the other shoving a grape in his mouth. He figured it was either a Josie issued ‘Thank You’ note, or a Josie issued ‘Get Out’ note. What he didn’t expect was a handwritten note from the Inquisitor herself. 

_Alistair,_

_I would like to issue you a formal invitation to join the Inquisition as delegate to The Grey Wardens and ask to beseech said group for aid in future events when necessary._

_Expect a proper and well worded letter from Josephine to follow._

_-Inquisitor L_

  
  
  


He read the letter once. Then once more. Then he closed it, placed it on the table, and stared at it for a little while before throwing it in the fire. 

Well, so much for sleeping.


	8. Chapter 8

“So! Are you going to say yes?”

“Say yes to what?”

Leliana had found him at the crack of dawn that morning and had been following him around like a magpie who spotted something shiny. Alistair, on the other hand, couldn’t feel the same exuberance for the day. He hadn’t slept last night, obsessing over what to do with this so called ‘position’ in the Inquisition, meaning he still hadn’t recovered much from yesterday’s journey. He had slept less for longer periods of time. That was what he kept repeating as he dragged himself through the motions of the day. 

“You know what, Alistair. This would be perfect for you,” she swung around, blocking him off from progressing his pacing.

“And here I thought I’d be getting kicked out of here because I mouthed off yesterday, not being offered a job.” 

“She loved that! Which is...odd, in most people’s point of view. But the Inquisitor likes to have people around her who will state the truth. Not just what she wants to hear. I’m really not gathering why you’re protesting against this so much. Everyone likes you.” 

Alistair ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots. In theory, it was perfect. Theory meant nothing in real life. 

“And how do you know that? Did you all take a vote?” he asked a bit too sharply. It wasn’t Leliana’s fault that he was having an existential crisis. 

“Well...yes. Except Cullen, as he was excused given his return,” Leliana paused. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

“Wow, you’d make a great spy. How could you have guessed?” 

“I’m going to let that one slide as I can see you are in a horrible mood, but the next rude comment will be met with methods you won’t enjoy. Speak your case.” 

“I— How did he explain so much when he wasn’t even sure what was the matter? “Did you know that we were trained together?” 

“I do read records, since I am a great spy and all.” 

“Well, do those records show why he harbors some sort of grudge against me now? I left the Templars abruptly, obviously. Didn’t exactly have time to say goodbye as they wanted me out immediately. Past that, I couldn’t exactly tell you what the problem is. He hates me one minute and likes me again the next.” 

“Mm. He did ask the other day if you were replacing him as Commander. Right after your little sword fight.”

“ _What_!”

“Now that I think on it, I can see where he might think so. He’s sick quite a lot, you see,” Leliana shrugged, tilting her head with that all knowing look. 

"...Right."

Was Cullen sick a lot? Alistair hadn’t noticed if he was, then again he hadn’t been at Skyhold for very long at all. It was obviously enough of an insecurity of Cullen’s if he thought Alistair had swaggered in to take over. Cullen was so caught up in change, but did he really think Alistair would have such a metamorphosis that he undermine someone he still considered a friend? 

"You both also have about the same level of training and almost the same status in the eyes of the Chantry, I would think. Except _you_ have the added bonus of the mages not holding a grudge against you. Plenty of people hero worship you, not to mention the connections you’ve built and your bloodline…” Leliana trailed off.

Alistair moaned as though he was in pain, covering his eyes with his hands. He hated how much sense it all made, how he hadn’t thought of it earlier. No wonder Cullen hated him. “Don’t bring my bastardness into this, Leliana. Cullen was a bloody Knight-Captain, I know you know that. _That’s_ what little children inspire to be. Not---me. I don’t even want to be me half the time.”

Cool hands anchored themselves to the sides of his head. "You are going to give yourself an aneurysm at 31, Alistair. Calm down.” He could hear the change in Leliana’s voice, friendly annoyance with just the slightest tinge of worry.

"Well, lucky for you Cullen and I are interchangeable so my death shouldn't inconvenience you all too much."

“Stop it.” Her hands now yanked out his own, which he dropped unceremoniously. The sun felt too bright now, even from the little perch of Leliana’s office. 

“You’re over tired. When was the last time you ate something?” 

She gave him no time to answer. 

“No, do not tell me. I can guess. But I’ll tell you what is going to happen now: you are going to go back to your room, you’re going to take a nap. Then, once you awaken all fresh and wide eyed, you’re going to shave all that stubble off your handsome face. Then you are going to come to supper. After all those tasks are completed, you will simply go to the Commander’s office and speak with him.” 

“That all sounded fine until that last part.”

“Yes, because that is the big boy part. You both need to resolve this once and for all. And if it goes badly, we’ll get terribly drunk afterwards.” 

Alistair thought that he’d get drunk either way. 

“Alright,” he agreed, though he wasn’t sure why. He needed the closure, if he really thought about it. Alistair may have never been on Cullen’s mind in past years, but Cullen was on Alistair’s often. 

———————❖———————

He had cut himself while shaving, had been late to supper, and had dreamt a dream about an archdemon that he had actually remember once he woke up. But somehow he arrived at Cullen’s door intact and mostly pulled together. 

His bare hand stroked the wood of the door before knocking three raps into it. He was just about to turn around and leave when Cullen uttered a hollow “Enter.” Cullen obviously had not been tipped off by Leliana because he was still seated at his desk doing paperwork, not even looking up. 

“Hi,” Alistair cleared his throat. Cullen must have been expecting a soldier as his head whipped up by the odd greeting. Oh, Alistair would hate to serve under Cullen. He’d be getting flogged weekly. 

“Alistair. This is a surprise. What can I help you with?” 

“I don’t want your job,” he rushed out, hardly letting Cullen finish his sentence. The silence between them was fresh and awkward but Alistair didn’t let it linger long.

“I heard—someone told me that there was a rumor of that happening. And it’s not. It was never even offered or suggested. Even if it was, I wouldn’t want it. You’re much better at this than I could ever be.” 

Cullen sighed, placing his pen down and standing. Rolling his shoulders back, Alistair was reminded that Cullen beat him in height by two inches. “What other things were you told?” 

_Things,_ not rumors. Rumors meant they might not be true but things…

“That you were ill. But no one knows with what. You look perfectly fit enough to beat my arse.” 

Cullen smoothly slipped his leather gloves off and moved closer, close enough that Alistair could feel his body heat. He slowly placed his finger tips of one hand against Alistair’s cheek. Alistair didn’t shift away, but even he flinched from the iciness that pierced his skin. “They’re like this all the time,” Cullen said. 

“Even with the lyrium?” 

Cullen lowered his hand but only took a step or so back. “I haven’t taken lyrium in a year, Alistair. I quit when I got the position.”

That made no sense. You couldn’t just stop taking lyrium. You couldn’t survive that.

“How are you not _dead_?” 

Alistair looked Cullen over with unclouded vision, noticing now the sunken cheekbones, the bruise like rings that framed beneath his eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that if Cullen could survive withdrawal from this that he could survive the Joining. 

“I’m certainly not well. I get episodes where the side effects get too hard to bear. I get stuck in bed for days if I try to fight through it and all I want to do is beg for just a mouthful. But I get through it. With time it gets better. Or so I tell myself.” Cullen opened and closed his palms, flexing his fingers. Alistair wondered if they were as numb as they felt.

“I thought of you when I decided to stop. I remembered how much you loathed the idea of taking it, how you dreaded each day that took you closer to making your vows. I didn’t understand at the time why you were so against something so powerful, but now I do. It’s like you said when you first came to Skyhold, your mind is not your own on lyrium.” 

“I would have thought after you became Knight-Commander...” 

Cullen held up his hand and closed his eyes, cutting off Alistair with one small movement.

“Do you know why I got promoted in the first place? And I don’t mean Kirkwall. Before all that.”

Alistair shook his head. 

“I’ve never really spoken of it. But then again, I’ve never really been around anyone who would understand. Anyone else who was there is now dead. But can I really bare my soul to you? Would I dare place upon you such a grievance?” 

Whatever happened was a beast of a burden, still haunting Cullen even now. The mention of it both aged him twenty years and made him look like a scared child. Anyone with an inkling of this knowledge could see it had been living on his shoulders like led. 

“Trust me, Cullen. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”


	9. Chapter 9

Cullen spoke of his hell. Of the desire demon, of the blood mages. Of the screaming and death and how he was the last one and wanted nothing more than to succumb but wasn’t allowed the privilege. 

“Kinloch. This was Kinloch, wasn’t it?” Alistair asked. He hadn’t moved since he entered the office. His feet felt nailed to the ground. 

“So you're aware of what happened there? I figured, given your relationship with the Hero of Ferelden, but I don't recall seeing you there with her. Then again, I wasn't in the clearest state of mind.” 

He nodded, licking his lips. "I know bits and pieces. Kallian didn't have me accompany her that time, she took this big Qunari bloke instead. I got to stay behind with the dog, even though I wanted to go and help. I know I never became a templar, but I figured I knew people in there. Seems I was right."

“Is it odd,” Cullen began. “That I find comfort in the fact that you were looking for me, coming to save me? Even if you had no idea who you were saving in the first place. I wonder how different things would have turned out had you found me instead."

“I would have never let you go back.” The frown on Alistair’s face felt permanent and his words painstakingly true. “I would have killed those demons myself and dragged you away from that whole life. Even if I had to force you, I wouldn’t have let the Templars touch you again.” 

“And then what?” Cullen locked eyes with Alistair. Truth. He needed Cullen to know what he spoke was the absolute truth.

“I would have figured out a way to conscript you and have you join the Grey Wardens.” 

It all clicked together beautifully, like a secret ending to a book that had been ripped out and burned. It all stupidly made so much sense. It was a future that Alistair would have loved, that Duncan would have approved of. Cullen could have gotten revenge and protected those he wanted to, not just the people he was ordered to. 

It was a future so deep in the past but the meaning of its intentions didn’t change. 

The answer or maybe the conversation did change Cullen’s intentions however. He closed the small space between them and suddenly Alistair felt cold fingers on his cheeks again. But they were soon balanced out by the warmth of Cullen’s lips against his own, the only sound in the room being that of their breathing. Alistair didn’t pull away, didn’t even think of it as an option. He sank into the kiss instead, one that he had been starving for, one that he had craved for so long that it felt like an eternity. 

They only moved apart when Alistair struggled to get Cullen’s armor off one handed. His plackart had way too many snaps and buttons keeping it in place and Alistair got increasingly frustrated when it became clear he couldn’t just scratch it off like an angry cat. 

Cullen laughed, undoing it without any thought at all and throwing it on the ground. The rest was simple enough and hands soon slipped themselves under Alistair’s tunic. His surcoat was already in a heap on the floor. “Are my hands too cold for you? Should I put my gloves on?” 

Alistair shook his head, shrugging off the last layer covering his torso. That seemed to be all the encouragement Cullen needed as Alistair soon found his back hitting the edge of the desk, lips firmly planted against his and circling the inside of his mouth. Moving to Alistair’s neck, Cullen bit the skin lightly, then a bit harder as Alistair’s fingers found their way into his blond hair, pulling at the roots. Alistair comprehended the sound of paper and books hitting the ground mere seconds before Cullen was hoisting him up onto his now empty desk. 

“Off. Take this off,” Alistair whined, tugging on Cullen’s shirt. He was still overly dressed. 

Cullen loomed over him after removing the offensive piece of clothing, his arms on either side of Alistair’s body, caging him in. It felt safe. It felt like home. He surprised himself by even remembering what home could feel like.

Alistair ran his fingers over Cullen’s lip, tracing the scar that cut into the skin. “How did this happen?” 

Cullen smirked, catching Alistair’s palm and kissing it. “We have ten years worth of stories to catch up on. But if it is alright with you, I’d rather save them until later.” 

He could feel Cullen growing hard against his thigh, even through his trousers. 

“Extremely alright.”

With that, Cullen kissed down Alistair’s chest, pausing only at the navel to undo his belt. This time, mirroring his own removal of clothes as well. Once the air hit Alistair’s cock, once Cullen’s mouth was on his thigh, biting the flesh there…

“Cullen, I should probably tell you _—fuck—_ I..um...I’m a virgin.” 

Cullen’s head snapped up as if Sera had stuffed bees down his non-existing pants and he quickly came to leaning over Alistair again. 

“A...You’ve _never—_ So the rumors of all those Gray Warden sex parties are false?” Cullen asked.

“No. Well, I’ve never been part of them and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were but...”

“Alistair, I’m speaking in jest. But are you sure you wish to go through with this? We don’t have to take it any further. It has been quite an intense night already.” 

Alistair pushed himself up to his elbows. “No, I want to. I really, _really_ want to.”

“Alright. Are you okay with the...current roles, as it were?” 

_Oh, Maker’s breath. How did this get so awkward._

“Yes, Cullen. Feel free to command the commander. Just fuck me, pretty please.” 

Cullen groaned, rubbing his eyelids between one hand. “Now I feel like we should take this to a bed. Maker, where did I even put the oil?” 

Alistair fell back, letting his head hit the desk, listening to random drawers be opened and unceremoniously slammed shut. By the fourth one, Cullen was successful. Still, it was a sight. Seeing Cullen strut around his office completely nude, unable to remember where he had placed his lubricant last time he had jerk himself off. “Cullen, I enjoyed how things were going before I opened my mouth. Besides, I rather like the idea of seeing the Inquisitor sit in the chair over there, right next to where I got ravished by her Commander." 

“You kill me,” Cullen finally returned, hovering atop Alistair again. The proper position, one that Alistair could get very used to. “You’re going to be the death of me. I had always thought the lyrium would do me in, maybe the sword, but this…” His eyes raked over Alistair’s body. “No, this is it. It’s a good death, I think.” 

That smirk. That smirk was too much.

“Let me know if I go too fast,” was the sentence that had barely process through Alistair’s mind as he felt Cullen’s finger touch his opening. Like in everything, Cullen was slow and methodical, never rushing even as Alistair begged. By the third finger, Alistair thought Cullen was just enjoying driving him up the wall (or up the desk rather) as every other stroke landed on his prostate and in turn, every thought of Alistair’s was focused on not coming. 

Alistair was just about to give up when Cullen withdrew his fingers and coated himself in oil. So this was it. Luckily, Cullen’s fingers had fucked all worry out of Alistair’s brain. 

It felt like Cullen was breathing air into Alistair’s lungs as he pushed his length in, giving little time for adjustment until he was fully seated in Alistair’s arse. Helpful, as Alistair was quite sure he completely forgot how to breathe for the next however many minutes. Cullen ate up any whine that came from the other’s mouth, rocking his hips slowly before properly thrusting into the heat beneath him. 

It was too much but _holy Andraste_ , did Alistair never want it to end. The desk squeaked against the floor in tempo, Alistair wrapping his thighs around Cullen’s back to push his cock in deeper. There was no way he was going to last long, but he had given up on that hope a while ago. No way--- not when Cullen was inside him and around him, and _devouring him_. 

When Alistair did come, he made a mess of it. His fingers scratched into the tender skin of Cullen’s back, the room going white around the edges as his seed landed between his and Cullen’s stomach. 

“Maker, you’re so good. _So, so good,”_ Cullen muttered, getting rougher as Alistair suddenly got tighter. He didn’t last much longer either and soon enough Alistair felt that hot pulsing inside him, his eyes wide as Cullen groaned into his neck, releasing his own seed as deep seemingly as he could.

And that was that. Innocence gone. Lightening probably waiting to strike him down the next time he walked outside. 

  
  


Cullen was as much of a gentleman as you could expect in such a scenario, cleaning both of them off, offering Alistair some elf root from some magical compartment. When Alistair declined, Cullen had insisted. “Trust me, you’ll be useless all day tomorrow unless you take some now.”

He even went as far as putting the bottle to Alistair’s lips and making him take a few sips. In truth, he wasn’t sure what was meant to happen after. Did he just leave? Did he bow out gracefully now before Cullen asked him to? 

But whatever awkwardness he thought should be felt, it was obvious that Cullen didn’t share it. Instead he poured them both some water from a basin in the corner and pulled out a blanket from the small basket besides the divan, beckoning Alistair forward. Alistair slid off the desk with no grace, but managed to bite down the edge of his surprise as Cullen wrapped the blanket around them both. He drank a few mouthfuls of the cool water, trying to keep up with the thoughts that roamed around his brain now that it was functional again. Trying to remember the real reason he had even shown up in the first place.

“The Inquisitor asked me to stay permanently.” 

Cullen looked at him with mild surprise. “What did you say?” 

Alistair shook his head and stared down into his glass. Water had never been so interesting before. “Nothing. It happened just tonight. I wanted to make sure that you didn’t despise me before I made a decision,” he answered.

“And now that you know that I don’t: You’ll stay?” 

“You want me to?” 

“Yes,” Cullen said. “Very much so. By an embarrassing margin, in all honesty.” 

“I suppose then, I’ll give my answer to the Inquisitor in the morning. But only if you kiss me again.” 

Cullen smiled. “Now that is most certainly a request I can work with.”


	10. Chapter 10

"Do you swear yourself to the Inquisition, to protect, serve, and die for its cause?" 

"Aye."

Alistair stood before the Inquisitor's overbearing throne with an ease he had never thought he'd have when he was younger. 

The pledge was for show, really. In fact, Alistair had made abundantly clear that he _couldn't_ put the Inquisition above the Grey Wardens as technically, by doing so, his fellow wardens had every right to slay him as a traitor. Not that he thought they would, but they _could_. His mind flashed back to that bloke at Ostagar who melted down about having to drink darkspawn blood---how Duncan had gutted him without hesitation because there was no way out of their order. You lived and you died by it.

The Inquisitor waved him off when Alistair brought up his concerns. 

_"It's a formality_ ," she had said. " _I'm hardly going to demand a blood sacrifice_."

She was joking at the time, unaware how close to the truth she actually was. Not that he could or would share that. He'd happily help the Inquisition, enjoy having what could become a home even if for little while and if didn't need to potentially die just to join it, even better.

"Do you swear to leave all grudges behind for those who now work beside you?"

"Aye."

"And do you swear to keep corruption from this place?"

"Aye."

She stood from her chair, the stage she stood on still making her loom over everyone else in the great hall. 

"Then, Commander-Warden Alistair, I welcome you officially to the Inquisition."

———————❖———————

The night ended very similar to how it all began: all of the Inner Circle were getting pissed on something that tasted like leather and fire while stories were being swapped left and right. It was hard to keep up, but the mood was boastful and content either way.

"Did I ever tell you all about how Alistair ended up in his small clothes in front of a group of Knight Captains and recruits?" Cullen asked, the smile on him genuine, complemented by the blush from the alcohol. 

"That was _you_ ?" At least three people at the table exclaimed. Oh, so Cullen _had_ spoken about him in the past.

"Did Cullen ever tell you how it was basically his fault to begin with? Seeing as he is _actually_ a dirty little trickster?" Alistair asked, slipping his hand on Cullen’s thigh beneath the table, hidden from prying eyes.

"How wonderful it will be to have someone who knows of the dashingly tightlipped Commander's sordid past. Oh, _do_ go on," Josephine said, folding her hands in her lap. 

"Well, it all started the night before, you see. We had been brewing ale under our beds for the last three weeks and were trying to hide it from the sisters..."


End file.
